Skriker’s fingers threaded into the D-ring in her collar, as he forced her mouth up and down on his shaft, faster and harder. She was whimpering and groaning as she swallowed him, taking him down, shuddering in pleasure as he worked his inches deep into her throat.
“That taste good, Rosie?” Skriker breathed, his fingers tugging hard on her collar, and she tried to nod, tried to tell him somehow that it tasted sweeter than ambrosia.
She was ready to milk him, ready to swallow every hot oozing drop of his seed and come herself as she did it, and that was when he caressed her face and withdrew his tool from her mouth, gently slapping her lips a few times with the knobbed head before pulling away. She groaned, frustrated, and he slapped her tits a few times, pinching her nipples in hard callused fingers.
“You Nephilim are slow learners,” he seethed as she felt him untying the silk ropes that bound her wrists. “You beg, when I tell you not to beg. You will keep your whore mouth shut, unless I have something to fill it with. You will come when I allow you to. Now, on all fours, please.”
Rose felt him move down and grip her hips he flipped her over on her hands and knees. He pushed her face down into the bedspread and used the same silk rope to tie her arms behind her back, wrapping the sleek cord around her wrists and torso until they were bound tight together. With her torso bound and her ass in the air, Rose instinctually spread her thighs. When she felt his hot breath caress her aching labia, she nearly squealed in excitement.
Skriker had positioned himself behind her and was making love to her with lips, tongue and hot moist breath; she bucked and whimpered, tossing her head against the mattress like a mare in heat. Then, his hands gently caressed and massaged her hips and thighs, stroking her smooth skin with a light touch that sent violent shivers rocketing through her body. His tongue lapped, licked, teased, deliciously warm and slick between the soft folds of her honeypot, pushing suddenly deeper into her, tasting more…
Her body stiffened as his tongue pushed deep—too deep—for a human male. She felt the oral organ wriggling deeply into her, reaching for the back of her pussy, and a dark thought crossed her mind.
He’s morphed.
Disgust and repulsion briefly flooded her belly; it was a demon’s tongue, black and forked, that now wormed its way into her cunt and lapped at her most secret places. The angel in her battered at its prison door, its screams deafening, and she almost unlocked it—almost, until Skriker did something with his tongue and a wave of pleasure unlike anything she could have imagined washed through her, blowing any of that old uncertainty she so often felt into oblivion. She humped back against him, moaning and trembling, certain that this was what his plan was all along—to have her come as he pleasured her in a morphed state, a true Demon Master possessing his Angel slave.
She was wrong, of course, and realized this when he pulled away before the orgasm could take hold. Skriker suddenly gripped her hips with force and entered her cunt once again, jamming his tool, as many of those ten inches as would fit—into her begging slit. His thrusts were merciless, even cruel, and she screamed as he grabbed the back knot of the blindfold and jerked her head back as he rammed into her, panting and grunting like a beast, his rhythm primal and beyond urgent. His other fist gripped her wrists where they were bound behind her back, forcing her back onto his cock.
Next, he was slapping her ass, spanking her so hard that she was certain he would leave bruises, all the while punishing her helpless, begging cunt with ten inches of hard gristle. “Take it!” he roared, spanking her brutally. “Take that dick, bitch! Take every fat fucking inch!”
Rose was fading, near exhaustion, overwhelmed by the pleasure pounding through her like a primal heartbeat; her screams of delicious pain had faded to soft, groaning whimpers. She was certain that she would faint dead away before he would let her have release, before this—her lover and, tonight, her Master—would let her come.
It was in that moment, she heard his voice, crying out to her as his thrusting sped up and his body tensed against hers. “Come!” he growled, slapping her butt a last few incredible times. “Come for your Demon Master, Angel! Come all over this hard flesh…”
Rose did come; it was beyond coming. Her voice rose in a wail that seemed to erupt from her very core, reverberating through the night, permeating every stick of wood and slip of fabric that surrounded their lover’s bed. She drenched him as she came, and at the last second, he pulled out of her with a wet skoosh and shot his load across the red angel wings tattooed on her back, spurt after spurt of hot thick seed until his balls were empty and he couldn’t shoot another drop. “Oh, fuuuck!” he cried, his voice a raspy moan in the night.
Rose collapsed forward as he released her, lying in a huddled, silk-tied lump, her long legs twisted out behind her, tears of ultimate release streaking down her mascara-smeared cheeks. She lay there sobbing, her own salty juices oozing from her exhausted aching hole, sticky warm semen pooled across her back, feeling filthy and fantastic all at once.
She had been a demon’s slave, truly.
The Master had been her lover and dearest companion, but she had submitted to him, and that had been like standing before the Seraphim and the Archangels and giving them all the finger in her defiantly human way. It filled her with a thrill that she could not deny; a deep primordial hunger, raw and pure, as pure as the white fire that boiled in her genes. It was glorious.
Indeed, it made her feel free.
Moments later, Skriker was untying the blindfold, pulling it gently away from her, and she squinted as the soft light of the room broke the darkness to which she had been committed for the last hour or so. He untied her arms, heard him cast the silk rope aside, and felt him wipe a soft towel across her back, mopping up his spurted juices.
Moments later, he spooned up next to her and pulled her into his arms.
She shivered, though the night was warm.
“Rosie,” he breathed, nuzzling into her neck. “I love you so much, baby. I can’t tell you how much. I never could manage to tell you—thank you for this. Thank you…”
She nodded, sighing and shifting back against him, melting into him. “Are you enjoying your present, honey?”
His hands moved over her sweat-slicked body, placid and tender. “God, yes,” he breathed. “And there’ll be more to come. Now I just want to hold you. Just let me hold you, baby.”
Rose curled close to him, her buttocks and back pressed against him; his hands moved sweetly over her body, caressing her thighs and hips and belly, coming up to tenderly cup her sore, abused breasts. She sighed and laid her head back, kissing him softly, relishing just being in his arms, her heart overflowing like a fountain.
She fell asleep in his embrace, and didn’t awaken until she felt him lifting her and carrying her into the master bathroom. He lowered her gently into a warm, comforting bath and took his time washing the sweat and cum from her skin, soothing her sore nipples with a soft wet cloth. She lay back in the tub, her breasts bobbing, her hair streaking in dark rivulets on the surface of the water, gazing up at him as he tended to her aftercare.
“You doing okay there, baby?” he asked softly.
She smiled tiredly. “Yeah, I am. You’re my blond god, you know that, Skrike?” she murmured.
He grinned, winking at her. “You bet. Always and forever. And don’t you forget it, Rosie.”
Sometime later, he drained the tub, dried her off, and carried her back to bed. He nestled her beneath the sheets and held her in the darkness, his arms so strong around her, and she was once again, amazed that such a big man could touch her so gently and with such tenderness. She was sore as hell, bruised and reddened by his brutal loving, and yet his hands moved over her body with such sweet gentleness now.
Skriker rolled over on her, and she could feel his cock pressed against her thigh, once again as hard as a chunk of pink rock. She whimpered, unsure if she could handle another session like the one they had just shared so soon, but he was slow in his mo
vements, meltingly tender, and she realized that he was rewarding her, thanking her for her gift of submission to him. She allowed herself to relax and enjoy his gentler favors, soon finding herself whimpering for him again, wanting him with a desperate yet quiet hunger.
Skriker cupped her battered breasts in his hands and soothed them once again with his mouth and caressing tongue, licking, sucking, worshipping as he usually did. Rose writhed gently beneath him, burying her fingers in the thick chunky spikes of his hair, panting and pleading softly. He nuzzled against each breast, then between them, kissing each harsh red mark left by his whip, coaxing her nipples to harden between his lips.
“Mmm, you taste like honey, Rosie,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So good to your man.”
She giggled and sighed. “I wanted to please you.”
He raised his head, and she once again saw those pinpricks of orange light in his eyes, strange points in the darkness of his bedroom. “You always please me, Rose. You honor me every time. I love you like crazy, but you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Skriker’s hand moved slowly down and between her thighs, and she parted them for him, molding her body against his. He bent his head and nestled a nipple into his mouth again, as she lifted her hips against his; her cunt was once again streaming wet and she knew he could feel it, could feel her glossy wetness sliding over his probing fingers. He sucked and licked her turgid bud, moving the tip of his tongue around her areola in concentric circles as she humped against his hand, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
He moved between her thighs and his cock found her pussy once again, the plump knob pushing past the soft folds of her vaginal lips and into her silky crevasse. Rose thrust her hips upward and took him deep, squeezing down on him, and he moaned, shuddering as she began to push and pull against him.
“Master,” she whimpered, and he kissed her, sucked her breath into his throat as his thrusting sped up; she was raw down there, sore and bruised, and yet the pleasure came again, wave after glorious wave.
“That’s it, baby,” he panted. “Let me love you. “She felt him grow harder in her wet gulf, pumping his rod in and out, as he grabbed her throat, hooking his fingers into the rim of the leather collar that bound her. She bucked against him, her breasts jiggling as he jerked the collar in his grip, dipping her hand between their writhing bodies and pinching the base of his plunging dick between her fingers where it emerged from her slit, stroking him rhythmically as he thrust.
“Rose!” he cried, his voice a hoarse bellow. “Oh, shit…oh, God! Don’t stop, baby-keep that hand moving-oh, yeahh…” He ejaculated again, spraying his cream into her just as she felt orgasm rock her depths. She shuddered beneath him, her voice a strained groan beneath the pressure of his hand gripping her collared throat.
She gazed up at him, relishing the sight of him kneeling above her, his chiseled body outlined by the streetlight shining in through the window, his pale hair catching that same gassy blue-white light. He was panting, and his eyes were burning red-orange in the cloth-thick shadows obscuring much of his handsome face. Rose licked her fingers, tasting her own juices, and held her arms out to him, trustingly, almost like a child.
“Demon…Master,” she breathed, and he lay down in her embrace, his pleasantly softening penis resting against her thigh. He nuzzled into her neck, against the collar that bound her, inhaling the leather scent as his left arm slung lazily across her breasts.
“Tomorrow,” he mumbled as he drifted off to sleep. “So much more fun planned, baby. So much more for my Angel slave to give me...” His voice had begun to fade in her ears, become tiny and distant, and before she knew it, Rose was slipping down into a soft, black, watery sleep that felt distinctly primordial. As primordial as pleasure, as pain. Her body throbbed, but that was distant, too, like a shadow. Her thoughts became disjointed, and when that deep ocean of sleep finally overtook her and she drifted aimlessly in its suspending depths. The brush of a nightmare whispered against the edge of her subconscious, as soft and fleeting as a butterfly’s wing.
Tomorrow and tomorrow, and tomorrow…
PART TWO
RIDE HARD, LEAVE WET
Devils speak of the way in which she'll manifest
Angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress
Need to contaminate, to alleviate this loneliness
I now know the depths I reach are limitless…
--Nine Inch Nails, “Reptile”
Rose blinked awake in the cold dead grey of early morning. Pale, colorless, with no discernable shadows. She shifted in Skriker’s rumpled bedclothes; her body felt like a strange blend of satin and broken glass. The sheets rubbed across her breasts and her nipples throbbed.
The bed was empty beside her. She sat up groggily and blinked her makeup-smeared eyelids. Her fingers came up to brush the leather collar locked around her neck and she inhaled sharply.
Oh, what a night…
The bedroom’s double doors were closed and she heard Skriker’s husky voice coming from behind them, playful and laughing. She could also hear the loud thump of Trash’s paws on the living room floor; hear the gruff growls and yips made by the big hell hound. Rose sat up and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed; looking down, she noted that the red welts and marks left by her lover’s brutal attentions had been smeared with a soothing yellow ointment that smelled pleasantly of flowers and herbs. Skriker had obviously applied more aftercare to her lovingly abused flesh, and she had slept through it like a rock. She glanced at the bedside table and saw the single hot pink rose in a tall thin vase, and the glass of water sitting beside that.
She realized how thirsty she was; how she felt like she was made of sand. Her tissues did indeed feel arid, like the sterile deserts that surrounded Jerusalem. She plucked up the water and gulped it down greedily, gasping between sips. She plunked the empty glass down on the table and breathed deeply, her thoughts tumbling about in her brain like dandelion fluff on the wind.
How did she feel? Truth be told, she felt amazing. Exhausted, beaten, and sweetly tormented…but amazing. Despite those consensual injuries that marred her flesh, her body continued to feel like a live wire. More awake, more alive, ready for…well, more. There came another thump from the living room and Rose got out of bed and padded over to the bedroom doors, stealthily opening the one on the right and slipping out into the hallway.
She came around the corner and stood there, watching Skriker and Trash play. Skriker was on the floor, rolling around as he wrestled the big red-eyed wolf, as spry as a little boy with his puppy. Trash was panting merrily, drool flying, his massive paws thumping on the carpeted floor. He paused and looked up at Rose, and the moment he spotted her he parted from his master and galloped over, releasing a friendly roar, as Rose reached down and scratched him between the ears.
Skriker got up and stood watching them, smirking. Rose looked up at him, and just seeing his gaze made a delicious shiver run down her spine. She could see that he had been planning what they would do since he had risen, could see it dance wickedly through his sage eyes like a vapor through summer leaves, and the mystery of the unknown once again beckoned with its own sensual heat.
“Hey, mate,” Skriker called softly. “Time to go back to your room. There’s a good boy.”
Rose watched Trash trot back down the hallway and disappear into the guest room as his master had commanded. Skriker strolled up to her, gently cupping her ointment-smeared breasts and lifting them.
“You put something on me,” Rose said softly. “Thank you.”
Skriker nodded. “Calendula ointment. Very healing, very soothing. These pretty tits should be feeling right as rain. Do they, Angel?”
“Yes. I’m a fast healer.”
“I know it.” Skriker jerked his head in the direction of the master bedroom. “Go and shower. Wash your skin clean for me. I want to see no ointment left on you whatsoever, und
erstand?”
Rose nodded. Skriker turned her about and smacked her ass, sending her in the direction of the master bedroom. The pleasant sting followed her into the bathroom.
Skriker’s master bath was as lavishly appointed as his bedroom, and he had obviously cleaned and tidied it well before her arrival the day before. Fresh oxblood-colored towels lined the chrome bars, and new bottles of shampoo and body wash made from luxurious ingredients stood on the shelf inside his large tiled glass-enclosed shower. Rose stepped in and turned the water up as hot as she could stand it, washing the fragrant ointment from her belly and breasts. The red welts had all but vanished, leaving behind a mere ghost of soreness, and as her hands moved over her breasts, slim waist and hard belly, the sensations were arousing beyond belief. Her father’s words, the last shreds of your angelic pride danced through her head and she banished them abruptly.
Skriker was standing next to his dining room table, smirking, when she strode in, naked save for the collar binding her neck. She walked up to him and stood before him, a luscious toy once again washed, perfumed, and collared for his pleasure. Skriker nodded, his sage eyes twinkling.
“Lovely. Come here, Angel, and let me make sure you’re ready for me. Gimme those nice tits so I can inspect them.”
She stepped up to him and he cupped her freshly-washed breasts, caressing the smooth firm globes with warm callused hands and fingers. Rose trembled, closing her eyes and sighing, her head falling back as he bent lower, sucking on each nipple, tasting, nibbling, and teasing with slick caresses of his tongue. He slipped his hands down and cupped her bare buttocks in his palms as he licked and sucked, and in moments she was dripping wet, her labia throbbing torturously. She moaned softly and he pulled away, leaving the erect buds hard, throbbing, and wet with his spit.
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